The French War Bride (35 page)

1946

I
had no other option, so I told him the truth.

We stayed awake most of the night. I explained that I was the daughter of a linguistics professor, that I had grown up in Paris with my brothers, and that I had known Yvette all my life. I told him all about the beginning of the war and meeting Joshua, then fleeing Paris. I told him about losing my parents and my home. I described life in occupied Paris, the fear, the hunger, the desperation. I told him about working for la Résistance, about Pierre. I told him about becoming une femme tondue, about Yvette's pregnancy and death.

He seemed to be sympathetic. He seemed to be softening. “And how does Doug fit into all this?”

So I told him how I had overheard him giving Doug's confession by proxy.

This infuriated him all over again—more than any of my other deceptions, more even than learning that Elise was not my biological child. He let out a string of epithets I didn't understand, but realized were viler than any he had probably ever uttered in his life. “Why?” Jack asked, his hands on his head. “Why did you set me up like that?”

“Because I was desperate, and you seemed like a gift from God.”

“You could have just asked me! I would have tried to help.”

“You would not have married me.”

“No. I would not. And I don't know that I can ever forgive you for taking that choice from me.”

“You always had a choice.”

“You played on my sense of guilt, damn it! And now I've betrayed Kat and her family and myself—all for your personal gain.”

“No. I did it for Elise.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes. It wasn't for me. I decided to do this before I set eyes on you. You could have been an old ugly toad of a man, for all I knew.”

“You not only tricked me into marrying you—you tricked me into taking your virginity!”

“I didn't trick you into that,” I protested. “And what does my virginity have to do with anything?”

“It shouldn't have a damn thing.” He rose from the bed and stood in the narrow space between the bed and wall. Lifting the shade, he stared out the window at the passing night, then turned to me. “Tell me this: What were you planning to do in Montana? How long did you think you could pass off Elise as Doug's child?”

Shame scoured me like a metal-bristled brush. All I could do was bow my head. “I . . . I do not know.”

“You were going to dupe Doug's parents into taking in you and the child?”

“It was not my choice. It was yours.”

“Because I believed you, damn it! But you—you were going to let it happen?”

“I—I do not know. It has been heavy on my heart. I have not known what to do since we started this journey. I believe I would have told you on the next train.”

“You
believ
e you would have? What kind of woman are you?”

“A desperate one,” I replied. “I do not believe I am a bad one.”

He made a scoffing sound from the back of his throat. “Even you don't know for sure.”

I lifted my head. “I know this. I never meant any harm. I only want what is best for Elise.”

“If you think I'm going to reorder my life to accommodate some scheme of yours, you're dead wrong.”

“What?”

“Last night doesn't change the fact you're a liar and a schemer.”

“Last night was because I grew to care for you, to want you. You know that I wanted you. You are a man. You are a doctor. You know the signs of desire, signs a woman cannot fake.”

He stared out the window.

“I have no designs, no schemes on you, aside from getting Elise to America. Last night—well, that, I admit, was selfish; I made love with you because I wanted you so badly. It is the only thing I have sought purely for myself, aside from survival, since I was sixteen years old.” I lifted my chin. “And I do not regret it.”

“Well, I do.”

“I am sorry. I felt it was so good, so right, so exactly as it ought to have felt.”

“How could it be good or right, when it was built on a stack of lies? I betrayed my fiancée for a woman who lied to me and used me for her own purposes.”

“You make me sound awful. I never meant harm. I only lied because I wanted the best for my child.”

“The child is not even yours. Good grief, you don't even have a legal claim to her!”

“I have the claim of love. I have the claim of being with her all of her life, and of being the only mother she knows.”

“By all rights, I should report you to the authorities.”

My heart stopped, then pounded so hard he must have been able to hear it. “What . . . what would happen then?”

“Elise would probably be sent to social services and you would be deported.”

“Oh, no!” The terror of losing Elise was far, far worse than any fear I had felt in the war. My blood felt as though it had turned to ice. “That cannot be what is best for the child. Please. Let us get an annulment as planned.”

“And how will you live? How will you support her, without friends or family to watch her while you work? Where will you live?”

“I—I'll figure it out. I have a much better chance here than in France. Here there is food. There are jobs. There is opportunity.”

“I honestly don't know what to do with you. I don't know what to think.”

We went round and round all night, talking and arguing. Sometime toward morning, we fell into an exhausted sleep. We skipped breakfast and readied ourselves to change trains.

I went to get Elise from Sue and ran into Rose.

“Did it work?” she asked eagerly.

“Yes, and no,” I answered, my heart heavy. “We made love, but then we had another argument, and it was worse than before. And it is all my fault.”

“No argument is ever the fault of just one party.”

“This one was,” I said sadly. “I was untruthful to him about some very important things from my past.”

She patted my back. “My dear, love can conquer anything. Keep him close, be patient, and remember the power of the physical side of your relationship.”

There was no point in telling her that her advice was useless. Advice about love only worked if both parties felt it. I mustered a small smile. “Thank you for all you have done.”

Rose handed me a card with her address. “If you ever are in Chicago, or if you ever need anything, you can reach me at this address or this phone number.”

I tucked it in my purse. During the war, I had learned the importance of having supportive people in my life and not being too proud to take their help when I needed it. It was almost as important as being there to support others in their time of need. “Thank you, Rose, for the dress and the advice and the encouragement.”

“God bless, my dear.” She kissed my cheek. “And welcome to America!”

If only, I thought, I could be sure I would get to stay.

W
e changed trains in Williston, North Dakota. Jack carried my bag. He helped me with Elise. But he did not speak to me.

We sat across from each other for hours. He read a book. I tried to distract a very fussy baby—I don't know if Elise was really teething or just picking up on my tension—and I stared out the window. The scenery was magnificent—snowcapped mountains, rivers full of ice floes, and meadows ridged with snowdrifts—but none of it registered. I was too terrified of what would happen to me.

At last, Jack broke his silence. “The Claibornes are meeting us at Whitefish. Since you can't be trusted to open your mouth without lying, you are to say nothing beyond ‘Hello' and ‘Nice to meet you.' In fact, why don't you pretend as if you don't speak English? You've proven you can do that convincingly enough.”

His words stung. “And what will you tell them?”

“That I was with their son when he died. As for you—I will not support any of your lies. You never met him. You will not say you did.” He gazed out the window, his mouth as hard and craggy as the mountains. “We'll stay the night, and we'll leave tomorrow.”

“Afterward—what will happen to Elise and me?”

“I don't know yet.” He didn't deign to look at me. “And if I did, I'd make you wait to find out.”

“You are trying to punish me.”

“No. I am keeping you from finding a way to work against me behind my back. You are not to be trusted.”

Tears sprang to my eyes. “You are wrong. I am completely trustworthy, if I am on your side of things.”

He gave a disbelieving snort.

“Look at how faithfully I served France. Look at how good a friend I have been to Yvette, and how good a mother to Elise. The problem is, when I first met you, I did not know that you were . . .” I hesitated. What could I say?
That you were so fine, so upright, and respectable?
Too decent to lie to?
“So . . . honorable.”

“Would that have changed your plans?”

I blew out a sigh. “Probably not. I had made a vow to Yvette, and you seemed the only option I had of keeping it. And I never meant to be such a problem to you. I thought you would help me get to New York, and then we would go our separate ways. I had no idea things would get so . . . involved.”

“Were the Browns really your family?”

I had no reason to withhold the truth about anything anymore. “They were Yvette's family—Elise's family. I know they would have given us a place to live while I got a job and got on my feet.”

“We'll never know that now, will we?”

And then, about a half hour later, he asked another question. “Why did you lie about the dead babies on the ship?”

Tears sprang to my eyes. “I didn't! That was the truth.”

“A very convenient truth, considering it kept me from putting you back on the ship to France when we couldn't find your family.”

“That is not how it was.”

He shook his head. “When I count up the lies you've told me, it boggles the mind. I don't even know which one is the worst.”

“I am sorry. At the time I told each one, I felt it was necessary.”

“How about the lie of omission?”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“Why the hell didn't you tell me you were a virgin?”

I didn't understand why he was scowling so darkly at me. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Nothing! It should have nothing to do with a blasted damned thing.” Although, I could tell, in his mind it did.

1946

W
e arrived at Whitefish a few minutes after ten in the evening. The Claibornes were waiting for us at the station—a large Tudor-looking building, far more grand than I would have expected out in the wilds of the country.

The Claibornes were both blue-eyed and large-boned and tall. To my mind, they looked like Germans, or possibly Swedes. The woman's graying hair was pulled back into a severe bun. She had a thin mouth but kind eyes. She wore what looked like an Indian blanket draped around a shearling-lined overcoat. Her face wore the familiar signs of recent grief—circles around the eyes, furrows in her forehead, the gaunt, angular look of someone who had suddenly lost weight. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with thinning, white-streaked hair and a white beard. He wore a heavy suede coat, also lined in shearling. He had the ruddy skin of a man who spent much time outdoors.

“My family surprised me in New York, so I brought them with me,” Jack said. “I hope we're not inconveniencing you.”

“No, not at all. The more the merrier! I'm Daniel Claiborne, and this is Gustava.”

“Please, call us Dan and Gustie,” she said, holding out her hand to me.

I still found it odd, this American custom of shaking hands. I awkwardly did so.

“
Enchanté
,” I said. “I am Amélie. And this is Elise.”

“Oh, my—what a beautiful child!”

“Thank you,” I murmured.

Jack gave me a meaningful look. “I'm afraid Amélie doesn't speak much English.”

“I'm sure we'll get along just fine.” She looked at me hopefully. “Did you know Doug, too?”

“No.” Jack responded at the same time I did.

An awkward pause followed our odd unison reply. “Well, I can't wait to hear everything you can tell us about our boy.” Gustie looked at Jack, her plain face bright with anticipation.

“Now, Gustie,” Dan admonished. “It's late, and our visitors have had a long trip. Let's get them home and let them get some sleep, and then we can all talk tomorrow.”

“Yes. Yes, that's a very good idea.”

They took our bags, placed them in the Claibornes' ramshackle Ford, and drove several miles outside of town. Their home was a small, two-story clapboard farmhouse.

“I've put you in the guest room,” Gustie said.

“Thank you,” I said.

“The bathroom is down the hall,” Dan said. “If you like, I can get Doug's old crib out of the attic for the baby. Gustie insisted on saving it for our grandchildren. Now, I guess, we'll never . . .” His voice petered off.

Gustie's fist went to her mouth.

My heart went out to her. “I am so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” Dan looked at me, his eyes kind. “Say, I think your English is pretty good.”

I could feel the heat of a warning in Jack's gaze and decided to ignore it. “Thank you. Jack has taught me much,” I replied. “Please don't bother about the baby bed. She has been sleeping in my suitcase. I take out a few clothes, put a sheet across the others, and she has been perfectly comfortable.”

Gustie bustled around, getting an extra sheet and blanket for the baby's bedding, asking if we wanted anything to eat or drink. Mercifully, Jack said we were tired.

Gustie held the baby while I fixed the suitcase bed. When I turned, I caught Gustie gazing at Elise with the rapt tenderness of someone falling in love. This, I thought, is what she lost in the war—her very own beloved child, the heart of her very heart. I had wondered if a mother ever really moved beyond that all-encompassing early love—that stay-up-all-night, feed-you-with-my-own-body, she-bear-ferocious love. Apparently not.

The thought of Jack separating me from Elise made my stomach knot.

Gustie softly placed Elise in her little bed as if she were made of the most delicate porcelain. “Oh, she's the sweetest thing.”

“Thank you,” I murmured.

Later, when Jack and I were alone, I remarked how very nice the Claibornes were. “And they really seem to like babies,” I added.

He glowered at me. “If you're suggesting that we revert to your original scheme . . .”

“No! No, of course not. And you're forgetting that it was never my idea.” What did he think I was?

And yet, how far from the truth was he? Because in the back of my mind, I was calculating how I might be able to stay with them instead of being shipped back to France. I was also thinking that I had Rose Atkins's card from the train. I was evaluating my options. The problem was that I had no money.

I knew that Jack had a big wad of money in his bag. I had seen it in the corner. If I took out enough to buy train tickets, I would be able to keep Elise in America.

I waited until he went down the hall to the bathroom, and I opened his bag. I stared at the money. There was a lot—maybe three thousand dollars in cash. He probably wouldn't even miss a couple of hundred-dollar bills.

I had learned many hard lessons during the war. The most lasting one was this: It was up to me, and me alone, to protect my loved ones. I could rely on no one else.

And yet . . . I was not a thief. If I had to become one to protect Elise, I would not steal from a man who had done nothing but help me. I closed the bag and put it back exactly where Jack had left it.

—

The bed was large and the room was cold. There were no extra blankets. All the same, Jack lay down on the floor.

“Don't be ridiculous. There is plenty of room in the bed for both of us.”

“I will not share your bed.”

“Very well. Then I will sleep on the floor and you can have the bed.”

“No.”

“Then we will both sleep on the floor.” I hauled off the bedding, gave half to him, and covered myself with the other half.

“What are you doing?”

“I am not going to lie in comfort while you're on the floor. So if this is what you're going to do, then it's what I'll do, as well.”

“Suit yourself,” he said.

So I did. I lay on the floor on the right side, and he lay on the left. A big feather mattress lay between us, with no one—ridiculously—upon it.

I awakened early in the morning to sounds in the kitchen. Jack was gone. I gathered up the sheets and blankets and made the bed, trying to remember exactly how Gustie had the bedding arranged, then went to the bathroom, washed up, and brushed my teeth. I even managed to get dressed and fix my hair before I awakened and dressed Elise.

I took her downstairs to find Jack sitting with Gustie and Dan before a fire in the kitchen.

“Come in, come in,” Gustie urged. “What can I fix for you and the little one?”

She warmed some water for Elise's formula and poured a cup of coffee for me while getting us each a bowl of oatmeal. “Your wonderful husband was just telling us about his service during the war,” she said. “You must be so proud of him.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Where did you two meet?”

I looked at Jack, remembering I wasn't supposed to know much English. I decided to let him fend for himself.

“In Paris,” he said. “She visited the hospital where I worked.”

“Judging from the size of your baby, that must have been when you just arrived in France,” Dan said. “You couldn't have wasted much time.”

“It was a—how do you say—tornado romance,” I supplied.

“She means whirlwind romance.”

They both laughed.

“Doug didn't mention that you were married.” Gustie frowned at Jack as she put some toast on my plate. “In fact, I thought he wrote something about you planning to practice medicine with your fiancée's father in Louisiana.”

I saw Jack's ears flame. “War has a way of changing a person's plans.”

“Are you going back to Louisiana?” Dan asked.

“Yes. But first I have to spend six weeks in Reno to get some extra training. In fact, we're catching a train there this afternoon.”

I looked at Jack, startled. This was the first I'd heard of this.

“So soon?” Gustie asked. “But you just got here.”

“We really can't stay. But I did want to come meet you and tell you what a fine man you'd raised.”

Gustie's eyes grew wet. Even Dan's looked suspiciously moist. “Well, we appreciate that.”

“You said on the phone that you had something from Doug for us?” Gustie said. “A surprise of some kind.”

“Yes.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a stack of bills wrapped with a rubber band. “He wanted me to give you this.” He handed the bills to Dan.

The large man thumbed through the thick wad of bills. “But how . . . how on earth did he get this much money?”

“Doug became quite a poker player. He routinely cleaned the table. And he kept his winnings—said he was saving up to help you get some new equipment, I believe. And, well, he asked me to see that you got this.”

Dan's heavily wrinkled eyes widened. “There's twelve hundred dollars here!”

“Like I said—he was quite a poker player.”

“And he wanted us to have it?” Dan's voice quavered.

Jack nodded. “I wanted to give it to you in person.” His voice, too,
shook with emotion. “Your son saved my life. I owe him—and you—a debt I can never repay.”

“Thank you.” Gustie dabbed at her eyes with the hem of her apron. “That means a lot.”

Dan sniffed and cleared his throat, then rubbed his eyes with his thumbs.

“He was an excellent medic. He did a lot of good and helped a lot of people,” Jack added.

Dan nodded. Gustie wiped her eyes again.

“Well.” Jack's chair squeaked on the linoleum as he pushed it back. “If it's not too much trouble, can you take us back to the train station? There's a train that leaves at three thirty that we need to be on.”

“Sure, no problem.” Dan looked at the clock and put down his coffee cup. “I need to go feed the cattle first. Would you like to come?”

“I'd love to,” Jack said. He shot me another warning look. “
Ne fait pas quelque chose stupide en mon absence.
”

“D'accord,” I said sweetly. “I adore you, too.”

“Your English is really quite good,” Gustie said.

Thank heavens
, I thought,
I can't say the same about your French.